


Him, of the Fayth

by ChrisF



Category: Final Fantasy VIII, Final Fantasy X, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Independant!Harry, International Relations, M/M, Male Slash, Politics, Soldier!Harry, Soldiers, grey!Harry, international politics, powerful!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisF/pseuds/ChrisF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Typical Cliche's. HP is raised by an old friend who owes Lily Potter a Debt-Not Snape & Becomes a a SeeD Mercenary from the Balamb Magical Military Academy in Japan-The Elite Soldiers of the Emperor. 4th yr, Powerful!Grey!Soldier!HP, International Politics, SLASH: Pairing Undecided - Slow Updates</p>
            </blockquote>





	Him, of the Fayth

**Author's Note:**

> Translations at end of Chapter. Also, please note that Character names from Various fandoms may be used, but Have no effect on the Plot, no Prior knowledge is necessary.

He looked around the room in mild curiosity; it was a typical child's room. The walls of the room were sky blue, clearly Magical wallpaper, with fluffy white clouds, and dozens of little brooms and golden snitches that zoomed around the walls continuously. To one side was a changing station; it looked as if she were about to change the boy when he'd arrived, diaper and nappies lay on the table as if ready for use. Even a tiny pair of pajamas lay there ready for the boy, they were a bright red, with little golden lions decorating them. Another Gryiffindor in training, he wanted to sneer, yet he refrained. It wasn't the boy's fault after all.  
  
    Off to the corner was a toy chest that greatly resembled a golden snitch, with the usual assortment of toys fit for a toddler; mostly Muggle in nature, he thought, with some disdain. There was a container with Blocks of various shapes, with a lid on top with slots that corresponded, he assumed, to the shapes in the container. A lot of multicolored plastic toys with numbers and shapes and pictures of animals. Various stuffed animals filled the chest; there was a purple dragon-like creature, though it was like no dragon he had ever seen, it had a single eye and a single horn atop its head. He sat it back down in the chest and looked absently over the rest; there was a cow a puppy that was brown with a scrunched up, pug-like face with the letters P.P. Embroidered in a tiny heart on it's back – there were several similar to it in fact. He smirked in amusement at the bulbous purple hippo that made a lewd sound akin to a raspberry when he squeezed it. How quaint, he thought to himself. Indeed, if he were a different sort of man he might chuckle.  
  
    Voldemort sighed sitting the hippo aside. He walked to the end of the room, stepping over the prone figure in his path, her red hair splayed out in stark contrast to the pristine white of the carpet; her blouse rode up slightly due to the angle at which she had fallen. There was no blood, he had been quick, and even if he had not, he would wager Salazar's fortune that the carpet was spelled against stains and such. Such a pity, he thought regrettably. Such promise wasted, all because of one child. Muggle-born or not, like himself Lily Potter truly was a talented witch, it was truly a pity to see such potential squandered.  
  
    Thin pale fingers caressed rich, smooth oak as he looked down at the child that occupied it. The cause of all this upheaval lay in the crib, blanket decorated with little snitches, like the walls. The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow, James Potter obviously had a Quidditch obsession, he thought fleetingly. It seemed inconceivable to him that this fussing child could be any sort of a threat to him, and yet as those bright green eyes met his own dim crimson orbs, brows furrowed as irritation and discomfort war for dominance on his tiny face, they seem to pierce his very being, alluding to a great power that lay just beyond perception.  
  
    The Man shook his head vehemently, forcing away such ridiculous thoughts. How could the boy be any sort of threat to This Voldemort, he considered snidely, lips curling at the rank smell assaulting his nose. The boy couldn't even control his bowls. Still, he thought. Still, he thought as the child began to fuss. Better to deal with this now then have a potential Achilles complex in the future.  
  
    Achilles was the son of the nymph Thetis and Peleus, the king of the Myrmidons. Zeus and Poseidon had been rivals for the hand of Thetis until Prometheus, the fire-bringer, warned Zeus of a prophecy that Thetis would bear a son greater than his father. For this reason, the two gods withdrew their pursuit, and had her wed Peleus. According to History, the man had become a great hero, said to be immortal, having been bathed in the river Styx, but he was left vulnerable at the part of the body she held him by, his heel, the only part of his body not to be washed in the River of Souls. Achilles was said to have been Killed by Paris with an arrow to the heel.  
  
    No! However unlikely it might be, he would not risk this boy becoming an arrow that could be his downfall. By his hand, magic would once again flourish, and it's oppression would come to an end. His work was far too important.  
  
    Decision made, Voldemort raised his wand, his eyes determined and yet, given their crimson shade, which often held a menacing glow, oddly impassive. His death would not be without purpose after all. “Good Bye, Harry Potter,” he whispered, and with a practiced motion he muttered the curse which had ended so many lives. “Avada Kedavera...”  
  
    It happened so quickly that anyone who might have been watching, though Voldemort was indeed alone in the room with the boy, could have barely so much as blinked, but to Voldemort it seemed to take an eternity. When the sickly green energy reached the boy time seemed to slow, and Voldemort watched in fascination as a golden glow seemed to surround the infant and the most beautiful and yet terrible song filled his ears. It Penetrated his very being, and at first he thought it was Phoenix song, but no, this was different. It was older, ageless, it's ambiance seemed to make the made the very foundations sake, saturating the very ether with its power. Ieyui Nobomenu, Renmiri Yojuyogo, Hasatekanae Kutamae. The deep, resenting tones both made him want to sing out in joy and cry in terrible agony. He wanted to rage in anger and at the same time felt an urge he had never felt before, wanted to, felt as if he should even, drop to his knees in reverence. What in Morgana's name was this power, he had to acquire it!  
  
    He watched, eyes widening in horror, when the light flared momentarily as the spell struck it, to his horror ricocheting harmlessly off the child and back at him. He tried t move, but the hymn, wondrous and terrible as it was, grew louder and more intense, seemed to hold him in his place. What is this magic! He raged ineffectually, watching helplessly as the spell drew nearer to him. He tried to fight it, to move away, but the more magic he pushed against the accursed power that bound him, the tighter it seemed the hold became.  
  
    He watched helplessly as his own spell struck him; green lightning coursed through him, making his skin stink, the smell of burnt flesh and ionized air filled his nostrils as a visible current danced around his body, making his skin crack and peel where it touched. His blood began to boil and his black robes caught fire as the lightning touched them, consuming the material in a green flame that seemed as hot as fiend-fyre . It quickly spread, over the carpet, and Lily Potters body, reducing it to ash. It slithered up the walls and along the ceiling, leaving the surfaces as black as coal, but it never touched Harry. He lay in his crib, the gold grow surrounding him like an angel. A ring of fire surrounded him on all sides, but burned a foot in a half diameter around, going no farther and leaving the carpet pristine white.  
  
    He, Voldemort, wanted to scream in agony; he felt as if his soul was being ripped from his body, but he couldn't, that damnable song grew and any sound he attempted to make was silenced as the sound died on his lips, leaving him to endure this hell in silently. His vision was hampered, shrouded in flame, up as he looked on, he swore he saw the blurry visage of James and Lily Potter, standing over their son, bathed in that golden glow.  
  
    Lily Power, whispered softly into her baby's ear. He couldn't make out her words over the haunting hymn, but James Potter watched him as he burned, his eyes glinting behind old rimmed spectacles.  
  
As he saw the pair standing over their son, bathed in light, for the first time in decades, Lord Voldemort felt fear.  
***  
  
“E..eto,” a young, prepubescent, high pitched voice nearly whispers, interrupting my musings in the process. My head snaps around with lightning speed toward the intruding voice, making the twelve year old cadet jump in surprise where he stands at the Gym entrance, nearly pissing his uniform as he does. “Watashi no shazai, Mejā -san,” He stands a bit straighter, thinking he surprised me, and apologizing so rapidly that only 13 years experience allow me to understand him. My arms burn dully and I sigh as I properly replace the bar-bell. I silently wave off the apology as stand, using my disregarded towel to wipe away the sweat, motioning the kid to continue. “Omo wa gensui wa sama saishū burīfingu no go shuppatsu mae ni jibun no sonzai o negatte imasu.”  
  
I sighed at the unwanted reminder of my pending mission assignment; and it's not so much the mission itself. I had been handling those for a good year now; and as a S.E.E.D Mercenary, a security detail like the one I'd be facing weren't uncommon. Though, this particular Job was on a much larger scale, it was basically no different. It was an international Government function where we would be playing Bodyguard, because the Local government was unable to defend itself against what amounts to little more than Terrorists. By Hiring S.E.E.D as an outside contract, they both ensured the security, and safety of visiting dignitaries and guests; but also saved face, while simultaneously boosting it's reputation. S.E.E.D was the Elite, not a collection of cheap, two-bit hired thugs. By Hiring a S.E.E.D squad, the Client makes a display of wealth, as well as power.  
  
Because it is such a high profile assignment, The Lord Marshal had deigned to handle the final briefing personally; a rare occasion, and as the missions ranking officer, I'm required to be present. A pain, to be certain, but nothing out of the ordinary. No, it is more so the fact that the mission is in a country to which I have never been, and to be perfectly honest, I have absolutely no desire to go, ever. “You would think that being an officer, that I could have my choice of missions,” I sigh in a put-out fashion. Though, I suppose that I should be honored that Din Daishou hand picked me for this assignment, but still I have a bad feeling in my gut about this.  
  
Though I am not a native the the country, years of speaking solely Japanese as a primary language have impaired my English, stinting my accent, as if I were a National. While it is a fact that all the cadets are taught English as a second language, it isn't used commonly, and my abrupt usage and I imagine my tone put the young cadet on edge, and he stiffens, standing at attention again. “Hai, Arigatō Namikaze kouhosei,” I say to the boy, deciding to take pity on him. “Kaiko.”  
  
Heaving a great sigh, I shake my head at the young cadet's antics, before making my own way out of the Gym. If the Lord Marshal sent a runner then that means time has grown short. I need a shower, I consider needlessly, as I jog along the bustling corridor, toward the Dorms, face scrunching at the rife stench. I pay no mind to the curious looks and odd whisper along the path. They aren't too frequent, and it's mostly the younger cadets like Namikaze, and the Greenhorns. I suppose I sort of understand it too, given that I'm a fourteen year old S.E.E.D Operative with the rank of Major, and all that that entails, it would be naive to think that wouldn't turn the occasional head. Still, I can't help but think as I reach my dorm. Am I that unapproachable?  
  
When I reach the Dorm, it's to find it empty, telling me that my Room mates are most likely already on their way. The Way the Dorm system works, is quite simple, based on Rank – The Higher your rank, the Better your Quarters. For example, it is my understanding that General Din possesses Private Quarters, as is his right; Though, I believe he shares those with Din Fujin; while adversely, the cadet's share Barrack style quarters, arranged by age, in groups twenty, or Thirty, and Monitored, by a superior officer, whom the Kids can go to with problems, or grievances, keeping the Peace, while instilling a proper chain of Command. While it may seem spartan, or Totalitarian to some, the system maintains order, and acts as a reward system, encouraging us to advance and to better ourselves.  
  
Quickly shucking my sweat soaked clothes as I enter the bathroom, aiming haphazardly at the hamper in the corner, before entering the white Tiled shower stall. At first glance it isn't much, not even a shower, it has no faucet, or head, just an empty, sterile looking cubical, inclosed on three sides by clear glass. The fourth wall is white tile, like the ceiling, and floor, and mounted into the center is a flat screened monitor-like device, like a computer, but no bigger then the palm of my hand. As I wave said hand over the monitor, it blinks to life, stats streaming across the tiny screen: water pressure, water temperature, which read a nice hot one hundred and seven – easing sore muscles, even the time of day.  
  
Satisfied with the read-out, I tap the bottom of the screen, causing the indicator to turn from red, to a solid green; and as water begins to spray from the ceiling like rain, hissing and raising steam as it bombards the cool tiled floor, I sigh. Taking a moment to relax, and allow the water to cascade over my body, I reach over and flip at the monitor as if leafing through the pages of a book. Glancing at the label, which reads, 'Song: As If In A Dream; Artist: L'Arc~en~Ciel' in kanji, before tapping the indicator, and beginning to wash, while the song flows smoothly, echoing around the bathroom.  
  
While not specifically what one might expect from an officer's quarters, I'd refused to distance myself farther from my squad-mates than was strictly necessary – that's how soldiers died in the field, unable, or unwilling to rely on your team mates. So that's what I did, put in to bunk with my two, older squad-mates. Besides, I didn't need anything over-extravagant, and the dorm is nice enough anyway. The main room is a large commons-like area with all the proper Furnishings; a plush, worn couch, matching chairs, a coffee table between them; a mounted flat screen on the far right wall, facing the sitting area, and a computer terminal on the left.  
  
From the hub that was the main room, it branched off into four separate rooms. Three of those were sleeping quarters, complete with Cot, a desk, and Closet. The fourth was this one, a shared bathroom, and while it is true that I have to share, at least it's in suite and not the communal toilet down the hall. The thought alone makes me shutter. All in, it reminds me a bit of what I imagine a Fraternity house would be like.  
  
Making quick work of my shower, I hustle about my orders. The others are probably already at the quad. I don't bother the towel. Sliding my closet door open I see my dress uniform hanging cleaned and pressed ready to be dawned; taking it from the closet. I lay it out on the bed and return to the foot locker on the closet floor for other necessary items.  
  
Putting on the dress uniform with practiced ease the glass to the side, looking myself over in the mirror. As dress uniforms go its nothing to fancy just black slacks, shirts, and a dress coat tracing gold trim, silver stenciled lapels and a leather belt around the waist and upper on the white right shoulder connecting back to the waist. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't be necessary, but this is an officially sanctioned mission which means opening a show.  
  
Lastly, my Chakram, a circular bladed weapon but I retrieved from under my pillow and attached to my belt. One of the first things they teach you is never be without a weapon. Always keep it close; a good soldier never needs a weapon, is never a bad idea to have one close by anyway. Sighing, I brush at the front of my uniform and straight my shoulders, standing up straight. “Shoutaimu!”  
  
Now, the best way to describe Balamb Gardens layout is a series of stacked rings surrounding a central elevator. It has three main floors, plus a large basement sub-level. The first and second floors are accessible to the entire Garden population, while the third floor and basement level require special permission. The first floor consists of the front gate, the lobby the library, the training center, the parking lot, the dormitories and barracks, the Training grounds, the infirmary, the cafeteria and the quad.  
  
The front gate is the Garden's main entrance. Upon entering the gate's outer part, visitors travel up a set of stairs and through a landscaped area before proceeding to a security checkpoint at the inner gate. SeeD, students, and visitors must present their IDs for inspection in order to pass and enter the inside of the Garden.  
  
The front gate entrance leads directly to the lobby. The lobby is the Garden's unofficial center and a gathering point for students. Its main features are a Garden directory and an elevator which allows students to access other floors. The lobby itself is shaped like a ring, which the main first-floor sections of the Garden branching off of it like spokes on a wheel.  
  
Following the lobby to the right, the southeastern corridor branching off from the ring leads to the Balamb Garden library. Open from 9am until curfew, all of its materials are available to students.  
  
Continuing up the lobby ring counter-clockwise, the eastern corridor leads to the Training Center. Known by students as the "monsters' lair," it is open 24 hours a day, even after curfew. Real monsters inhabit it, mainly Grats and T-Rexaurs, to challenge students' fighting skills.  
  
The northeastern corridor leads to the parking lot. The Parking Lot is an underground complex that houses most of Balamb Garden's road vehicles including the SeeD Personnel Carrier Vehicles for student transportation. The parking lot is accessed via a road that travels past the Balamb Garden front gate.  
  
The northwest corridor leads to the cafeteria. The cafeteria is open from 9am till 9pm, and students can order meals for the night and pick them up before curfew. The most popular dish in Balamb are the Balamb Garden hot dogs. The cafeteria is a popular hang-out spot for Balamb cadets to meet and exchange gossip.  
  
The western corridor leads to the quad. The quad is an open-air garden, and a place for students to relax. This is where I find myself now but the atmosphere is anything but relaxed. Cadets didn't stand in loose formation, whispering excitedly. It's not often They’re included on an official briefing, let alone on a mission. My squad mates, Kurosaki and Suzuku are already on the platform overlooking the cadets, waiting silently. When he sees me Suzuku greets me, drawing Kurosaki's attention to me. “Takarai,” he says, ever the formal one. Between Sazuku and Kurosaki, Kurosaki is easily the most easy going. I just nod in return and take my place between the two.  
  
When I see the Lord Marshal enter the room out of the order of my eye, his squad mates turned advisors at his side out of the corner of my eye, I immediately come to attention.”Gensui, on deck!”  
  
I stated loudly, my voice amplified and immediately the cadets grow quiet snapping to attention. “fukumei chuumondohri Ginsui-sa!”The cadets respond in unison as protocol dictates. These are the oldest among the cadets students no younger than 15 or 16 years old personally selected by the general for this mission.  
  
The Lord Marshal, dressed in his own class A's, Is a Dark and brooding man with an angular face and a stony expression and yet his eyes are bright and radiate emotion. He has a stark and prominent scar stretching from his left eye crossed his face to his right cheek; the result of a rivalry with his then squad leader And best friend Seifer Almasy.  
  
Being a quiet loner type the Lord Marshall doesn't like attention, and as he makes his way to the stage his eyes turned to me and I imagine that he wants to say something but refrains. Never being one for long-winded speeches he it straight to the point. He gives him a very basic rundown of the mission Balamb Garden military Academy has been invited to participate in an international tournament, and they been selected as the top of their class in the best of the best. The part about the tournament is true: the tri-Wizard tournament. Our host Call it an ancient game of strength, skill and intelligence; its historical fact that people have died in this tournament, something the Lord Marshall reiterates.”Za majikaru hitotachi oushuu aru takeyarisen keikiteimei,” the Lord Marshall says. Ah, yes – the wizards of Europe have yet to make any technological advancements beyond that 18th century – Their superiority complex, leading them to a standstill. “Mashi suru binwanwofuruu za takuisu oza nihongun hatamata za kyousei oza koukoku!”  
  
In a moment of national pride and honor the cadets forgot themselves. Cheering boisterously, they called out in unison, ”Hai, Ginsusama!” Standing there, I looked to the floor to hide my smirk. Despite the Lord Marshal Grimm disposition he is an inspiring man.  
  
The Lord Marshall stood silently waiting for the kids to collect themselves. Eventually the loud cheering trailed off to quiet chatter and in silence. The Lord Marshall was never one to raise his voice and if he gave an order you followed it. It wasn't out of fear however, you followed the Lord Marshall's orders because you respected him. “Hikiharau.”  
  
Upon the Lord Marshall's dismissal of the cadets, Kurosaki stepped forward, standing before the assembly. “Yoshi, Midgets!” He barked intimidatingly, though calling the midgets with somewhat counterproductive and I'm forced to look away again grunting in exasperation;Kurosaki's professionalism leaves much to be desired; and yet there are few that I would trust more to stand beside me with my life. “Yu kikioboe otoko, hikiharau!”  
  
“Takarai, hitokotofutakoto.” The Lord Marshall says to me steadily and I stopped standing at attention. He was number one. Given the sentimentality but something in the way he said that single sentence, caught my attention, and I turned about face to face him. He silent for a moment and I can tell that is weighing his words.”Your assignment,” he says to me. This time his words are in heavily accented English. I listened very carefully. The fact that he's not speaking his native tongue is telling us to the seriousness of the situation; for him, it's like speaking in code; if an enemy doesn't want anyone to hear what he has to say he speaks another language, the fact that he is doing so with me makes me suspicious. “Your mission is to provide security for their sporting event and their tournament, nothing more – do I make myself clear?”  
  
Now, I see what's going on, I acknowledge. While it is not a lie that the Academy is participating in the Britains games, is not the full purview of the mission. In the year 1991, terrorist faction calling themselves Death Eaters and their leader, Voldemort – alias unknown – became active again and since the tournament, in this World Cup of theirs are both international events, the British Ministry does not wish themselves to look incompetent or weak. So they approached us, and the Lord Marshal wishes to know if I suffer a conflict of interest. I grit my teeth at the insinuation but I keep my face blank. This man is the commander of SeeD special forces, Royal guard to the Emperor himself, it would not do to lose one's temper in his presence. “I assure you, sir,” I respond in kind. “I am now and have always been loyal to his eminence, the Emperor!” While it's common knowledge that I was adopted – British by birth - this country is all I've ever really known, my home. I hope no loyalty for Britain but it's times like this that I remember that no matter what I do I will always be an outsider.  
  
This is the reason I'm fuming as I make my way down the Northwest court or to the parking lot, many students hastily moving out of the way to clear a path, None too easier to incur my ire. The Lord Marshall is a good man. I have the greatest of respect, but that doesn't mean I have to like him. The audacity of that man to impugn my honor suggesting that I would betray my comrades for some backwater island stuck in the stone age that I barely even remember!  
  
I sit brooding in the back of the transport, face dour as we make our way to the train station. Given the countries lack of technological advancements, my squad and the cadets will be taking the train to the British Isles. It's no wonder they're in such dire straits, still using steam power technology. I shrug the thought away, listening to the cadets chatter Pointlessly, excited at the prospect of visiting a foreign land. “That is something we'll have to break them of,” I whispered to my dour squad mate, Sazuku, breaking my silence. He nods jerkily in understanding not saying a word. While I understand it it's instinct to speak their native language, for this mission to be successful we must blend in, Task already difficult enough without the language barrier.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> W a t a s h i n o s h a z a i , M e j - s a n , - M y A p o l o g i e s , M a j o r .
> 
>  
> 
> " O m o w a g e n s u i w a s a m a s a i s h k b u r + f i n g u n o g o s h u p p a t s u m a e n i j i b u n n o s o n z a i o n e g a t t e i m a s u . " - L o r d M a r s h a l s a m a w i s h e s y o u r p r e s e n c e f o r a f i n a l b r i e f i n g b e f o r e y o u r d e p a r t u r e . 
> 
>  
> 
> D a i s h o u - G e n e r a l
> 
>  
> 
> H a i , A r i g a t o N a m i k a z e k o u h o s e i , - Y e s , T h a n k y o u , C a d e t N a m i k a z e
> 
>  
> 
> K a i k o . - D i s m i s s e d
> 
> Shoutaimu - Showtime
> 
> “fukumei chuumondohri Ginsui-sa!” - Reporting as ordered Lord Marshal Sir!
> 
> .”Za majikaru hitotachi oushuu aru takeyarisen keikiteimei,” - Magical people of Europe are technological stagnant!
> 
> You will demonstrate for them. The superiority of the Japanese military and the might of the Empire! - “Mashi suru binwanwofuruu za takuisu oza nihongun hatamata za kyousei oza koukoku!”
> 
> “Hai, Ginsusama!” - yes, Lord Marshal!
> 
> “Hikiharau” - move out
> 
> “Yoshi “ -Alright
> 
> “Yu kikioboe otoko, hikiharau!” - You heard the man, move out!
> 
> “hitokotofutakoto” - A word  
> =======================
> 
> Music Used:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8eU91aWEIow&feature=share&list=FL1PET_g5yTIamyDbOlfhK6w (Song of Prayer)  
> http://youtu.be/sblT-f_CDOc (L'Arc~en~Ciel- As if in a Dream)


End file.
